The Harpy’s Tale

that can kill you!

reduce you to ashes, worm food!

it would be such a waste, you’re so young!

haven’t even gotten married yet!

best not to risk it, stick to your current path!

you’ve got your whole life ahead of you!

why take the risk?


Pachelbel’s Canon

dreams of long years are to become a reality.

deposit is paid. The venue is yours.

dress is bought. Ivory silk – on trend.

invitations are written. Chicken or fish?

honeymoon is booked. Paris, how cliché.

names are picked. James for a boy, Emma for a girl.

the groom is busy in the backseat of his car.


i am tired

i do not want to do this

but am compelled by tradition

i am tired

i do not want to think

about the struggles ahead

i am tired



connects orchid-related excesses

with the privilege of the few

spends their idle lives

dedicated to cultivating theses picky blooms

propagates them using their pale hands

to keep them out of your calloused ones.

“But compare the hardest day’s work you ever did.”



Safe and Sound

Without the help of an alarm clock,

I would probably never wake.

Governments would fall,

wars would be lost,

but I’d still be tucked up in my soft cave,

separate from the waking world,

talking to lost friends.




“I can help you cross over.”

No more wandering,

looking for belonging.

No more wailing,

pleas that are ignored.

No more emptiness,

yearning for the end.


The Dissident

altering the landscape

they fall one after the other

built to destroy to harm

they plummet to the ground BANG

but one amongst their number

questions his purpose

and falls to earth with a THUD


Looking for Lazarus

twitched and its eyes narrowed.

sparkling grey eyes and its tail flicked.

thick silver fur and its mouth opened.

you expect the voice of your father and it meowed.

then remember he wasn’t fond of cats and it slinked away.

you look for him everywhere and it landed.

black glistening feathers and it preached.



The “Gift”

Tens and twenties?

All she asked for her birthday,

was paper printed with the faces

of long buried corpses.

Paper covered with holograms,

to stop bandits making copies,

of what is essentially brightly coloured kindling.



An infinite and eternal universe,

with an infinite number of worlds,

peach mapping every outcome of every decision

ever made.

But if the universe is eternal,

was it created?

How can something exist without a beginning?